The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 01:25:06 -

The Wistful Petal

The feast is a mouth that does not close. You sit at the long table of oak, the wood black with age, in a hall that breathes like a lung. The air tastes of iron and honey. Around you, the knights eat. They do not speak. They chew. The sound is wet. It is the sound of rain on a tin roof. You are a soldier. You are the shield-bearer to the King. Your hands are rough. Your knuckles are swollen....

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